iHave A Weird Relationship
by Stupendous Seddie
Summary: I guess I'm gonna keep adding on to this story, simply because I love  *Gilbert Voice* SEDDIE! The story goes through some Sam and Freddie dating moments. Not too OOC. :


**Disclaimer: Who has two thumbs and doesn't own iCarly? THIS GIRL! **

**Author's Note (Ya know, that boring thing no one reads): I started this out as a oneshot, but I think I might make it a multi-chapter thing. Just because *Nora Voice* iCarly is my life.**

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><p>"Sleeping at night is for losers and stubrags," she complained.<p>

Our video chats were fun. She could always think of random stuff to tell me when she was at her house. It's just too bad that all of the random stuff usually came to her at two in the morning.

"Sleep is healthy, Sam," I said, smiling at my computer monitor.

She clapped her hands together in the praying position and leaned closer to the camera. "Babe, lemme ask you somethin'. Have I _ever _cared about my health?" she joked.

"_I_ care about your health."

"No," she slumped her shoulders and returned to a proper distance from the camera. "If you _really _cared about me, you'd _be_ here."

"Sam, please go to sleep," I begged.

"Fine… I'll just lay here… By myself… Mom out of town, cat at the vet, all by myself… In one of the most dangerous cities in the country." She sighed dramatically.

"Sam-"

She cut me off with another loud sigh.

I pounded my fists on the bed. "I'm on my way…"

"Oh, I'm _so _sorry to put you through all the trouble of walking a block to my house," she replied sarcastically.

I ignored her comment, shaking on my jacket and stepping into my shoes. I leaned over to look at her. "I'll be there in a few minutes. Try not to get in any gang fights."

"I'll do my best," she responded.

"I love you."

"Yeah, yeah, love you too," she slurred, turning off the chat.

I crawled out my window and on to the fire escape, slowly working my way down to the concrete. I used to be scared doing this. But lately I've had to do this so many times; it's become part of my job.

I ran the block to Sam's house. Seattle streets were frightening enough during the day, let alone to a seventeen-year-old boy in his pajamas at night. I'd do it for her, though. I slid open her unlocked window, like every night before, and climbed in to her bedroom.

As I slid the window shut, she spun around in her giant swivel chair to face me. "I've been expecting you," she said evilly.

I smiled. It's like she had these visits scripted. She rose and greeted me with a peck on the lips, her arms wrapping around my neck.

"I want you to try something for me," I requested.

"And what would that be?" she asked, unhooking her arms and sitting back down on the swivel chair.

"Now bear with me. It may come off as a foreign concept to you," I sat down on the purple bean bag chair in the corner closest to her. "It's called sleep."

"It's called boring."

"How can sleep be boring? You're not awake for it," I pointed out.

She grinned at me through the poorly lit room. I watched her slowly stand up and drag the chair over to the side of her bed. "Sit," she pointed at the piece of furniture.

I trudged over a few steps and collapsed into it. I just wanted to pass out. I felt a notebook being tossed onto my lap.

"Bore me," she demanded.

I flipped through the pages. "This is my science notebook from eighth grade," I stated, dumbfounded.

"Uh-huh. Bore me to sleep," she said again, laying down on her bed.

I still stayed on the same topic. "Well, where did you get this?"

"I stole it."

I shook my head. "Whatever you say." I pulled a blanket over her and started to read. I could see her slowly drifting off. Apparently she knew what she was talking about.

A few minutes later I could hear her breath deep and even. I read one last sentence that I knew would bore her to sleep permanently. "Frequent infections and partial blindness may be caused by a deficiency of Vitamin A."

She was officially asleep. Maybe I could end up the same way at one point tonight. "And they all snoozed happily ever after."


End file.
